


Clemency For My Mind

by SpaghettiCanActivist



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 06:44:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11202615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghettiCanActivist/pseuds/SpaghettiCanActivist
Summary: This is posted on another site, so sorry for those who have already read it.Morty finds a picture, some lies, and not a lot of truth. Rick proves however, when the line is hanging by a thread, that he really does care. All alongside a memory of a baby Morty and Rick.





	Clemency For My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is confusing. I mean the story is. I apologize in advance for that.

It was the picture in Birdperson's house, now on the floor with the glass shattered and a small smear of blood across the frame, the one where Rick was holding a baby Morty. They had gone back to check for supplies and 'stuff' as Rick had put it. Watching his grandpa rifle through the remains of his dead best friend's house like a grave robber, Morty knew that this was Rick's way for nostalgia, for remembering and honoring Birdperson.

Morty bent down and lifted the picture, it had originally inspired a warm feeling of being loved, something he didn't often get from his grandpa and one he was constantly looking for. Anything to prove that Morty mattered, that he really was the Mortiest.

The yellow shirt and diaper were the only pieces of clothing the child had on, however a part of the picture confused Morty. He looked about a year old in the picture, and at a year old, Morty had been in the hospital for immune problems. This Morty was healthy. His frown grew when he flipped the photo and saw the jagged writing with Morty's name and declaring the age one.

It left a pit in his stomach, one he wasn't able to address as Rick came up. He quickly shoved the picture in his pocket and went over to help his grandpa search through Birdperson's nesting bed.

When he got home he went to the stack of family albums that Jerry put together and pulled out the one from when he was a year old. Most of the pictures were of him in the hospital, from his parents' stories it had been nine months in the hospital and then four months at home with machinery to help him breath. There had been a scar on his face, one which had faded by the time he was five but had been there. Morty pulled the photo out and stared at the smooth and unblemished face of the child in the picture.

It felt like his heart fell out of him and he blinked, unwanted tears coming into his eyes. He wasn't Rick's Morty, and he was far from the Mortiest Morty as his grandpa had said. How many Mortys had Rick C-137 gone through, how many had he gotten killed? Did Rick even know the difference between him and all the Morty's before him? The pain was clouded over with anger and Morty shoved the album back into the book case.

His feet took him to the garage, anger now dictating his actions. Morty burst into the garage, the photo once again in his hand. Rick was working on a device and barely even turned to look at Morty.

"Th-that's it Rick, i-i-it's over, I know! I-I know I'm not the first!"

Rick raised a brow, continuing to work on his project.

"F-first thing, Morty, you-you don't know any, anything Morty, nothing. Then, the other thing, the other part, don't know what the-uuurp- what your talking about, Morty."

"I-I'm not the first Morty, Rick." Morty's voice was hard and accusing.

Morty slammed the picture down on the table next to his grandpa to accentuate his point. Rick froze and when he turned Morty felt his anger falter, fear filling its place. Rick's face was thunderous, anger Morty had never seen before on it.

Morty stumbled back as Rick rose and approached him.

"Tha-that what you think, Morty? Huh, Morty? You'd be right, Morty."

Rick's voice was cold, he moved forward, back handing Morty across the face. Morty fell to the ground.

"That's right, Morty, think I k-killed my last Morty? Well you're not the first, and you definitely won't be the last."

Morty stared up from where he was cupping his bleeding nose, watching as Rick swept from the room. Morty didn't get up from the floor for a while, laying there feeling crushed.

For several weeks things were awkward and Rick didn't talk to Morty, let alone take him on an adventure. It gave Morty time to think and time to realize the gaping hole that was left in his life with Rick gone. He'd seen too much to go back and find purpose in the world. Everytime he looked at his family he realized that they weren't even his real family, not even Rick now. The worst was realizing that all along, Rick had never cared for him, he had just been a replacement. It hurt, leaving his mind numb and thoughts trying to compensate for how much he hated living. It occurred to him finally that it didn't matter, he was a Morty, Mortys weren't meant to be cared about. He cared about Rick, loved and adored Rick as much as he hated him. It was with crushing realization that he accepted that any love or approval he thought he could earn wasn't there and would never be there, Rick had never loved and would never even remotely care about him.

Rick eventually took him on an adventure, eyes glaring at him, threatening him to bring up the encounter in the garage. Morty didn't, instead he didn't argue and listened to Rick. Rick never said anything and things went on.

Several months later they were in Yilzar where they were running from the local law enforcement, Rick having stolen something that was important to them, there wasn't any arguing, no whining from Morty and insults from Rick, just the heavy sound of them panting for breath as they sprinted down an alleyway. It came to a dead end and they both stopped. The portal gun was broken and they had nowhere to go. Rick immediately began fumbling with the portal gun while Morty stood there trembling, a gun in his hand. The police rounded the corner and immediately began firing. Morty returned fire and the police scattered, hiding behind the corners of the alleyway entrance.

There were more shots and Rick didn't even look up, still focused on fixing the portal gun. Morty knocked into him roughly and Rick fell to the ground, almost losing his grip on the gun.

"Fuck! Morty, watch it!" Rick yelled without looking over at his grandson.

With a grin of triumph he pointed at the ground below him and Morty and opened a portal. They landed on the floor of the garage. Rick turned to yell at Morty for nearly messing everything up, but when his gaze fell on his grandson his voice died. There was blood pouring from a bullet wound in Morty's gut, Morty was awake but barely, chest rising and falling in painful pulls for breath.

Rick scrambled over, fear in his eyes.

"Morty, Morty!"

He pressed against Morty's gut and watched as his grandson's face contorted in pain.

"Don't you fucking dare, Morty, you don't pass out." Rick slapped Morty in the face and Morty blinked his eyes open, staring in confusion up at Rick.

"You're g-gonna be alright, Morty, just a scratch."

Rick remembered, the shove and his anger and how Morty never had replied to his angry comment. It sent a shiver of despair through him when he realized that Morty had saved him by getting himself hurt. It was made worse by the fact that the bruise he'd caused on Morty's face was still there, light and nearly gone, but accentuated by the sickly pallor of Morty's skin. Rick made to get up, knowing that he wouldn't be able to save Morty without getting something quick. His coat seemed to be caught on something.

It was Morty, hand clenched in Rick's coat and eyes at half-mast as they looked up in feverish delirium at Rick. Rick paused, gently trying to remove his grandson's hand, however Morty had a tight hold on the coat. It was those pleading eyes,

Rick remembered nights, warm breath of the wind puzzling on his face and sweeping over the small, peaceful one year old in his arms. Morty had been such a well tempered child. He would take him to the graceful forests of Gangabar, a planet which had yet to develop sentient life, instead it was masses of plant life, all interacting in wondrous displays of courtship as the blooms of the violet colored peslay spread their ample petals, they were remiss of Earth's pansy, except with petals so large they could easily be used as the cloth of some perfumed gown worn by an exotic lady who displayed wonders which she would never be graced to see.

Rick saw them though, climbing thoughtlessly through even tempered greens and blues, sporadic purples and reds bursting from plants, yellows and browns, all colors on display. He remembered laying the tiny body across his chest so that a nest of curls was tucked under his chin, those wide, wide eyes peering in wonderment at everything around them. He recalled his even breathing and the slight rise and fall of a warm body held in his own arms, remembered that there was a time when it was a precious thing to hold a life in your arms and be the only thing standing between it and death.

They would settle then, at the base of a great tree of which Rick had yet to give a name, thick rounded trunk twisting into the sky while its branches speared outward and then drooped as they thinned so that they came to the ground like the willow tree, wisps of rainbow livery hovering over them, swept like arms of a mother to protect and surround them. Rick would lean against the soft bark and Morty would stay against his chest, but he would shift his head just so, in a way which would allow him to look at the tree.

The sun would begin to set, a salmon pink light which interacted with the dust and gasses of the atmosphere in such a way as to cast an altering skyline of green and blue across the darkening sky. A soft glow would start and the once dormant sprigs on the supple branches of the tree would begin to bud under the soft, reflected light of the four moons. The glow would increase and the bioluminescence of the blooms from the tree would light the air around them in a brilliant array of colors. Then the blooms, small feathered seeds, lit to the air at the soft puffs of the wind, causing them to float in angelic symphony around the two.

Morty's eyes were wide and he would stir, just so, so that his hands were hesitating with the desire to reach for the floating seeds. Rick would watch, a sense of peace in his heart and mind, till the night came on more and the warmth lifted just a little, he would watch until Morty's wondering eyes slipped shut and his head fell to the shoulder beneath it.

Rick would stand, look at Morty for a moment, and then run a finger above the small scar on Morty's cheek before brushing at it softly with a finger. The scar smudged and Rick smiled.

Right now though, in the garage where the stinging scent of blood filled Rick's nostrils, Morty was staring at him pleadingly, not to save him, but for him to stay. Rick had denied Morty everything, would continue to deny his grandson, but maybe not this.

"I have to fix ya, Morty, I-I gotta."

Morty still wouldn't let go, but tears were stirring in his eyes and his face seemed paler. Rick stamped on the sentiment rising in him, of course the little shit was pale, he was still losing blood.

Rick wrenched his coat from his grandson's grasp and sprinted to his table. Whatever it was, he found it, and soon he was back on the floor next to Morty. Morty seemed to have given up, chest barely stirring and eyes closed. A harsh slap wouldn't do in this case. Rick injected Morty and then waited. Morty's body relaxed, chest rising and falling, color flooding back into his cheeks and the bloody hole now just a torn dirty shirt with pale, crimson stained skin below.

Everything after that was a bagatelle; he cleaned Morty up, changed the yellow shirt with ease as the limp body was yielding. Picking Morty up, he staggered to his little room adjoining the garage and placed him down on the cot. The last thing was to remove his now stained lab coat, he tossed it in a corner, hesitated, then picked it back up, staring at the harsh color of red on it, and placed it in his machine for biological waste. There was a soft hiss and the slight stench of burnt material passed in the air.

He walked back into his room and settled on the cot where Morty was sleeping. Rick absentmindedly began running a hand through the curls, it reminded him of the baby soft tendrils Morty had sported at the age of one. Rick was never going to fight the demons in Morty's head for him, no one could really, just as no one would ever fight Rick's. Rick had lost too much to take death lightly, he had experienced loss so much now though that he was numbed by the terrible throbbing pain of it all. He was terribly unattached while fisting a death hold in the things he held precious as though they were all which kept his eyes open and his lungs contracting and filling with air. People needed resolution, needed it to be the kind of beings which could peaceably live in a world without resolution. Rocks were made, definite truths which were so far from the literal facts of the world that they allowed people to survive in the world.

Morty would sleep for a while, then he would wake up and things would be in that strange place of liminality which they would never cross. Rick would be kind, nearly loving and Morty's eyes would shine and confusion would seep into it all to occupy Morty's head at night and in his dreams. The next day would be the same as ever, but Rick would make sure to leave the picture on Morty's pillow, one of Morty in his arms with a small little scar marring the round cheek. Rick had given up the idea of dimensions, of the horrible multitudinous of the universe, but he held onto what he had now, what he wasn't willing to give up now.


End file.
